Had a complicated dream last night in which civilization was collapsing, and I somehow wound up as the quasi-samurai bodyguard to a royal family holding court in an abandoned museum. They were very upset because dwarven looters had stolen their stuffed mammoth.

 At one point, I found myself falling down a flight of stairs, while someone behind me yelled “Careful! Those are just brocade stairs!” (they promptly collapsed under my weight) and then there was the conversation with the king–

“I’m sorry, my liege, but your son is an idiot.”

“Yes, I know. Fortunately for you, I’m fond, not blind.”

It ended when someone sent a troll after them–a very vivid creature that looked like a two-thousand pound orangutan drawn by Burne Hogarth–which was throwing two-by-fours at me, and I was running through the museum dodging and yelling “To arms! To arms!” and wondering where the hell I’d left my sword.

I woke up because James had gotten up, which was Ben’s cue to come flop on my chest and purr in anticipation of another fine day’s escort mission.